


whatever lies beyond this morning

by sweetie (Marnie)



Series: FFXV A/B/O AUs [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha Aranea, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, F/M, Female Alpha, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, omega Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 16:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11406570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marnie/pseuds/sweetie
Summary: “You smell a mess,” Aranea says, after they’ve fallen into a comfortable silence.“Yeah,” the kid says, turning his head away with a sigh, “I think I’m going into heat.”





	whatever lies beyond this morning

**Author's Note:**

> de-anon and slight clean-up of a fill for for [this](http://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3892.html?thread=5249076#cmt5249076) kink meme prompt!

“Forget about what everyone else thinks for a second and figure out what it is you’re really after here.”  
  
Prompto’s freckled cheeks feel warm beneath her fingertips, too warm, but she’s so angry that it doesn’t register until she releases his face and her digits feel even colder than they did before--the way any part of one’s body feels after an abrupt loss of heat.  
  
Aranea feels a pang of regret the moment the Prompto splays himself out on the cold ground, forlorn eyes staring up at the cave ceiling. He’s got the look of an Omega defeated, all flushed cheeks and downturned lips. This is what makes her decide to take a beside him instead of booking it like she planned.  
  
She only meant to check in on him--he and the knotheads he travels with aren’t quite a pack, but they are close, and it would be obvious to anyone that he is used to being on the receiving end of affection and support.  
  
“I’m--I’m sorry.” Aranea huffs, running a stressed hand through her hair. She feels more frazzled than she once thought possible. This whole thing is a shitshow.  
  
“It’s okay. Gladio might have said the same thing.” He waves a hand, in an obvious attempt at being dismissive. The action is just a bit sluggish, though, and his hand falls back to the ground too quickly to appear natural. She wonders if he isn’t going into shock.  
  
“You smell a mess,” Aranea says, after they’ve fallen into a comfortable silence.  
  
“Yeah,” the kid says, turning his head away with a sigh, “I think I’m going into heat.”  
  
“You _what_?” Aranea snarls. The frustration that left her rears its head again with a slow intensity. Before long, she’s hissing through her teeth, running her hands over her face.  
  
“I noticed it a while back.” Prompto answers.  
  
He sounds awfully calm about the entire thing. Most Omegas she knows view their heats with an accepting sort of dread. Here, sitting close to this boy (and gods, he really is a boy, isn’t he? He’s barely even twenty), the only thing she can pick up from his scent is sadness and calm. There’s a particular flush to his cheeks, making his freckles pop like oddly colored scars, and every breath he takes curls a light plume of smoke into the air. His scent isn't quite there yet, but it is pleasant, like gunsmoke and vaguely of freshly cut fruit, plus the smallest hint of the friends he left behind. She had thought the sharp undertone was an aftereffect of fear.  
  
“Do you have any suppressants on you?”  
  
Prompto laughs at this question, finally looking back up at her. His eyes are red--she hadn’t noticed before. “I, uh, left them on the trai--”  
  
His eyes well abruptly, and it's like his words have left him completely. Despite herself, Aranea leans closer, reaching out to wipe the tears away before they fall. He whimpers, leaning into her touch.  
  
“Geez, kid.” Aranea huffs.

Being an Alpha is just another part of her, but sometimes it gets the best of her. Sometimes a cute omega bats their eyelashses at her, or they make a particular noise, and it scrambles her brain. She has never been a big fan of it. The sadness on this boy’s face and the pheromones he’s unintentionally releasing are stirring protective instincts beneath her skin like so many prickling needles, making her want to cradle and hold and be useful.  
  
“This sucks,” Prompto wheezes out, “and you smell really nice.”  
  
“Yeah, well, back at you. Unfortunately. Astrals, you could have told me. I might have--done something, I don’t know.”  
  
She kind of wants to smack him upside the head, but she has a sinking suspicion it’ll just make him cry even harder.  
  
“Can you hold me? Earlier, when you--that was nice. Just. You can, like, I don’t know. I won’t do anything. I promise. You can even leave me here. I’ll just sweat it out. But this day is kinda bullshit and I’m feeling pretty lonely.” Prompto babbles.  
  
Aranea’s moving before he’s even done talking, causing him to let out a questioning noise when she hauls him closer to the fire by his ankle. He moves with her, sitting up to lean into her space, but she stops him. He puts up a confused struggle when she turns him away from her, her hands tight on his shoulders. A rumbling growl of warning builds in her chest at his abortive movements. He stills in her hold, slackening even further when she cups her hand behind his neck, gentle but firm, and presses his head down between his knees.  
  
He releases a low whine, one of acceptance, and also of wanting--Aranea is experienced enough with helping omegas to know this much. She tightens her hold, slowly enough for him to feel it, and the noise dissolves into a purr. Good.  
  
“I’m only gonna ask you this once. Do you want me to help you through this heat?”  
  
A part of her hates the situation that they’re in with bitter intensity. He’s not in the best state, and any Omega would need more than what they currently have for a heat, especially one as obviously induced by stress as this. Heats like this hit fast, and they hit hard. They’re biology’s shitty, archaic way of ensuring that Omegas in distress could find protection in damning situations. Prompto needs warmth, familiar smelling things to nest with, more than canned food, a bed, and--most importantly--he needs an Alpha that he knows from Bahamut’s off ox. The most Aranea can provide is warmth, a knot, and maybe comfort if she tries.  
  
“Please,” he says, “please.”  
  
She can tell then and there that he needs more than a heat companion. What he wants, desperately, is human contact and attention. She hopes his friends can give that to him once they are reunited. For now, she will have to do.  
  
“Come here.” She commands, removing her hand from his neck.

Aranea isn’t expecting him to turn and bury himself into her arms, but she accepts him all the same, tilting her head up to allow him to sniff at her neck, where her scent is the strongest. With a start, she realizes that Prompto is probably further along than he initially let on.  
  
He pulls the scarf from around her neck with an impatient hiss, and she can feel that his face is nearly burning when he presses it into her skin not a moment later. When she pushes him onto his back, he melts back into the ground, thighs falling open. With this motion, the scent of his arousal hits her nose, honey sweet as before, and she imagines he’s slick and twitching and ready for her already. Her cock stirs in her pants, and she curses herself for choosing tight leather for this particular expedition. It’s been a while since she had to worry about some fertile smelling omega filling her with need, all helpless and wanting, but here she is.  
  
Aranea settles herself onto her knees and curls her hands around Prompto’s slim hips, pulling him up so that his bottom is resting in her lap. He yelps, surprised, but then immediately relaxes into her touch, watching her with trusting eyes.  
  
“Do your bestworst.” He tells her, and, inordinately, she feels a swirl of affection in her chest. It’s probably the hormones.  
  
She reaches for his belt, undoing it with quick fingers, and pauses only to pull her gloves off before she slides one of her hands into his pants. The kid opens his mouth to say something, but he gasps when her fingertips touch his erection over the thin fabric of his underwear. He’s painfully hard, flushed tip peeking out over the stretchy fabric. She trails her hand over where his slit is oozing precum, and he gives a bodily twitch before his back arches and he’s coming in spurts, pained whimpers filtering out between clenched teeth.  
  
He covers his eyes with his arm like he’s having a private moment, like he isn’t exposed to her and didn’t just come with a single touch.  
  
“Sorry,” he gasps, “oh my gosh, sorry, I’m--”  
  
“In heat. Trust me, there’ll be more where that came from, you know that. I’m just here to help.” Aranea tells him, a touch breathless.  
  
Even through his orgasm, Prompto’s still so hard that his cock looks angry. As he catches his breath, she scoots back and starts pulling off his boots. His feet are cute, all flat and pale. Though corded with wiry muscle, he’s got the physique of an omega through and through, and his skin feels soft where she trails her palms over it. His socks, pants, and underwear are gone next, and he languidly helps her remove the rest of his clothes.  
  
It’s cold. It’s _freezing_. But he won’t be satisfied until they are pressed together, skin to skin. In his state, he won’t feel much other than uncomfortable or pleasured.

She makes quick work of her own clothes, having the presence of mind to lay her jacket out like a makeshift blanket for him to lay on. When they come back together, he rolls onto his side and promptly buries his face in her breasts. He still has the presence of mind to trail curious hands over her body, and she amusedly watches as his eyes boomerang between her chest and where her erection is jutting from between her thighs. They always look larger on female Alphas, who have part of their reproductive system tucked inside.  
  
“Like what you see?” She guesses, and she isn’t expecting him to stutter out an affirmative and shuffle closer, but it’s cute enough that she laughs despite herself.  
  
“Can I touch you?” He asks, softly.  
  
“Baby, if you’re still coherent right now, I’m not doing my job. Maybe another time.” Aranea immediately curses herself for the wording, but it’s a good excuse for the truth--she doesn’t want to lose herself right now. “How about you present to me? Do you think you’re ready to take my knot?” She says, taking his hand and guiding it to where she’s hard and ready for him.  
  
Prompto lets out a shuddering whimper, hand squeezing her shaft tightly enough that her breath leaves her with a curse. Surprisingly enough, she feels a shock of want building in her own core. Maybe he would want to do the fucking at some point--it isn’t uncommon for male Omegas and female Alphas to switch roles during heats--but she knows that right now, what he needs is something to ease the itch that must be building up inside of him.  
  
“Please, Alpha,” he whines.  
  
She surges forward to kiss him. His mouth parts for her with a gasp, and she bites his plush bottom lip before sliding her tongue against his with an appreciative moan. She can instantly tell that he doesn’t have much experience with intimacy, but for her own sake, decides not to ask after his history--especially not with him frantic with need beneath her.  
  
Once they part, he chases her lips. Aranea appeases him with small pecks as she coaxes him to turn on to his belly. Once he is faced away from her, instinct takes over, and he raises himself onto wobbly knees and presents his ass to her, his arms forming a pillow for him to hide his flushed face.  
  
By the Gods, Prompto is wet. She had smelled it before, but now with the source of it facing her, her mind is filled with a pleasant fuzziness. His slick is trailing down the soft flesh of his thighs. She traces her fingers over where it has gathered the most, brings it to her mouth for a taste, and briefly considers teasing him with her tongue, but teasing isn’t what he needs right now. Without preamble, she presses two fingers into his pink entrance, where they slide in with little resistance.

The Omega lets out a plaintive mewl, riding the initial thrust of her fingers with a buck of his hips.  
  
“It’s not enough,” He grits out.  
  
“I know, I know.” Aranea soothes him, reaching out with her free hand to cup the back of his neck again, pressing down harder than before.  
  
As she was expecting, he’s nearly a puddle of softly purring goo by the time she settles on an appropriate amount of pressure, even through the weak attempts to get her fingers to move faster. She offers him another finger, swallowing at the way his tight walls stretch to accommodate her. He feels incredibly warm, and she wants nothing more than to give him her cock and knot him until his mind goes blank, but it’s obvious he’s new to this. He moves into the thrust of her fingers as much as his limited mobility will allow, eager and determined. Her fingers brush his prostate-- _just there!_ \--and he’s coming with a low, drawn out moan. She wants to stick her fingers past his pink, bitten lips, just to feel the vibrations against his skin.  
  
She doesn’t feel bad about where his release has dribbled onto her jacket. She will be reeking of omega for days, but this is worth it.  
  
“That’s it, you’re doing so good.” She coos, rubbing circles into his hitching back. She leans forward, so her breasts are pressing into his back. Her nipples pebble against his skin.  
  
  
When she removes her fingers, he clenches around them as if in protest. Before he can release a single word of complaint, she positions herself behind him, lines herself up, and slides in with an appreciative hiss. The noise Prompto makes is a veritable yowl. There’s an animal part of her that feels vicious satisfaction. She can’t suppress the rolling growl that rumbles through her chest. He’s tight, but his body accommodates her girth with just enough resistance to set a warm fire in her belly.  
  
Prompto has reached the point where stringing words together is difficult, but by the way he’s shaking and whining and shuffling about, she can tell he wants her to move. Knowing that she’ll lose it if she does that any time soon, Aranea reaches below him and grasps his cock, stroking quickly and and unforgivingly until he’s tightening around her and coming again, walls fluttering around her. She hisses out a curse, absently wiping the most of his come off onto her jacket.  
  
He’s heaving dry sobs into the fabric, tears of bitter frustration pouring from his eyes.

“Please, knot me, Alpha, please, I can’t,” he blubbers.  
  
Aranea steels herself and then pulls back, eyes zeroed in on where the pink flesh of his rim tugs on her length. Then she pushes back in, viscerally satisfied and the warbling cry that falls from his lips. It doesn’t take long for her to build up a rhythm, fucking into him hard and fast. He meets her for each thrust, pushing himself back onto her length with single-minded focus. He makes the prettiest noises, groans and whimpers and cries, with approximations of her name sending her into a frenzy.  
  
Prompto comes when her cock slides against the place where he’s sensitive, and the wet noises that hit her ears at every contraction makes the heat in her belly curl with savage intensity. She can feel herself widening at the base, and it makes each thrust more difficult and frustrating with each pass, until eventually she can’t pull out and her length is pulsing inside him.  
  
It’s as if the kid doesn’t register that he’s been knotted until he attempts to buck back into her, but once he finds that he can’t move much farther away from her, he slumps into the ground with a satisfied huff. She manuvers him into a more comfortable position completely on his belly, where he can rut into the fabric below and feel the full weight of her pressed into his back. Her knees will definitely ache after a while of being on her knees behind him, but she can bear it. The position is better suited to the involuntary twitch her hips give each time another wave of orgasm washes over her.  
  
“How ya doin’, kid?” Aranea murmurs into his ear, tucking sweat-slicked strands of blond behind his ear.  
  
“Hmmmmm,” He hums, sighing as her hips jolt into him again.  
  
She brings him off a few more times this way as her knot goes down, whispering praise and encouragement into his ear as he rolls his hips into her knot. When it finally eases, he settles into an exhausted sleep. She knows that his heat isn’t over--if it were, the sweat evaporating on his skin would wake him up due to the cold.  
  
“What have I gotten myself into?” Aranea sighs, running a hand over her face.

* * *

  
  
She loses track of time as the hours pass. Prompto’s on-and-off sleep allows her to search around for food, which she can occasionally coax him to eat in his more coherent moments. She knots him three more times, and when she’s too tired to put much work into moving, she allows him to fuck into her, lazily fingering him until he’s had his fill. He isn’t very experienced, but he is eager and curious. With time, he’ll be able to turn someone out, regardless of genders.  
  
Aranea knows his heat is coming to an end when the fever of his skin gives way enough for him to register the cold, and he starts to respond to her questions with complete sentences.  
  
“You know,” he tells her, bundled up in her filthy jacket, “that was the first time I ever spent my heat with someone else.”  
  
“Yeah,” Aranea replies, after a beat of silence. “I could tell. Glad to be of service.”  
  
“Thank you. I’d really like it if--” And here he pauses, shaking his head without finishing the thought.  
  
A part of her wants very badly to press him on it. He’d like it if what? If they could do this again? It’d never work. That’s just not the way things are going to play out.  
  
She doesn’t ask him to continue. Instead, she pulls him in for a soft kiss. “You're welcome.”  
  
He's covered in bruises and bitemakrs. Aranea does her best not to stare too hard at his neck, where his scent gland is still sightly puffy and thankfully unmarred. She had come close to biting down on it more than once. The last thing she needs right now is a mate. Prompto settles into her side for comfort, slender legs intertwining with hers, and she allows herself to have this moment.  
  


* * *

  
  
Days later, Prompto is looking much better as he props himself up onto a snowmobile. There’s a new sadness in his eyes, and his smile isn’t quite as big as before, but he doesn’t seem like he’s on the verge of another breakdown. He feels like a different person than the boy who stuck a burning piece of wood to tender flesh, further pushing himself into a state that could have proven fatal in this wilderness.  
  
“Aranea!” He calls out to her.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
He pauses, eyes casting about as if he has something serious to tell her, but then he just levels her with that crooked smile of his and says, “Thanks!”  
  
She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she bows her head through the reactionary laughter bubbling up in her chest. With one last look, he’s off, back to his friends, who will likely smother him with the affection he’s been convinced he doesn’t deserve.  
  
Aranea wishes him the best.

**Author's Note:**

> i imagine when prompto reunited with the group they were like "lmao man you smell really weird are you okay what's up" and prompto just fuckin "yeah i went into a stress heat and aranea turned my ass out 10/10 it was everything out of my fantasies also i'm a clone and i'm depressed wbu lol" and the boys are like ":O !!!! :O !!!!!! :O !!!!!" 
> 
> pls tell me your thoughts i'm soft and need validation


End file.
